


More Problems

by Aibohp



Series: We've Got Problems (We Get By) [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'm having trouble thinking of appropriate tags???, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internal Conflict, Multi, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Queer Themes, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aibohp/pseuds/Aibohp
Summary: Beverly, Ben, Stan, and Mike have problems, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so my fics draw mostly from the book and It (2017). If you haven't read the book, Beverly's mom is alive and she did take in interest into whether Alan Marsh was paying too much attention to Beverly. It's only briefly mentioned, though. Anyway I took some liberties with her parents and what happens with/to them in the book. I've never been in a situation like the one I put Bev in here. 
> 
> I was just kinda trying to get her out of her dad's house so if there's a plothole or two just drive around it.

Beverly smiled as she rested her head in the open back window. She had no idea how similar a position she was in to Bill at that moment. There was no song on her lips, though. Just the cool air brushing soft red curls off of her sweaty forehead. Her blood was running thin and hot with booze. She felt a little bit like she was living in a dream. Except for the fact that her stomach felt more than a little queasy and she had to keep taking deep breaths so as not to throw up on the back of Stan’s seat. 

“She’s not going to puke is she,” Stan asked from behind the wheel. They’d dropped Mike off a while ago and were cruising toward Ben’s place. “Because it’s fine if you need to but let me know so I can pull over.” 

“You okay, Bev,” Ben asked, the weight of his stare pulling her head up so she could look at him. His face was a little worried but it eased when she smiled dopily at him. 

“I’m alright, guys. Promise not to hurl in the car,” Beverly said kindly, pushing herself away from the door and leaning against him instead. He stiffed for a moment then oh so carefully put his arm around her shoulders. 

She loved Ben, she loved all her boys, but especially him. 

He was always so careful with her, so sweet, and so kind. Despite how much she knew he wanted to reach out and hold her hand or wrap an arm around her waist he almost never touched her unless she initiated it. Never once had he said an unkind thing to her, or acted like she owed him something for his friendship. She knew any of the Losers would fight for her, because they would all fight for each other, but Ben was always the first one to react to anyone who even so much as looked at her the wrong way. 

Ben Hanscom was like a knight in shining armor with the heart of a poet that he wore on his sleeve. He was everything she ever wanted in a man, if she was honest. Mostly because he was everything her father wasn’t. 

She rubbed her face into his shoulder, basking in his warmth and the feel of his soft, blue and black plaid shirt. But she didn’t get much time to savor it. Stan’s car rolled to a stop just a few minutes later. 

“Alright guys. It’s been a blast,” Stan said, twisting around to look at the two of them. 

“Thanks for the ride, Stan,” Ben said, already opening the door but waiting for Beverly to push herself off of him before he slid out. 

“Yeah, Stan, thanks. You really are the man,” Beverly giggled, leaning forward to plant a quick, dry kiss on his cheek. 

Then just like that she was slipping out of the car, Ben’s hand right there as she swung her legs out. Just like always, he was there to steady her as she pulled herself out of the car and pushed the door closed for her a moment later. It was impossible not to grin at him. He was almost too much sometimes. 

As Stan drove off he turned to her, lightly putting his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her with his gentle, concerned brown eyes. Beverly’s smile only grew and she cocked her head to the side, feeling herself sway drunkenly. She had drank too much at the quarry, she was sure of that. She always did, though. It was so easy to escape her inner turmoil when she just couldn't feel it anymore. 

“Hey Bev. You going to be okay to make it to the window,” Ben asked, breaking her from the slow downward spiral her thoughts had been starting to take. 

“Yup,” Beverly giggled, holding her mouth till she got her laughing fit under control. “Yeah. I just have to walk to the window and stand there,” she pointed out. It wasn’t like it was rocket science. 

She must have said that part out loud, too, because Ben laughed. 

“I know but I just worry. You could trip on something and fall into my mom’s rosebush and get hurt. Or remember the time you stepped on that rake and blacked your own eye,” Ben asked, making Beverly start snickering all over again. 

“Point taken! But I swear I can do this without kicking my own ass,” Beverly said, smiling brightly in the moonlight. 

Ben’s eyes roved over her face for just a moment before giving her a smile of his own and taking off toward his front door. Shaking her head, Beverly wnet creeping around the side of his house till she got to his bedroom window. The light inside flicked on moments later and the window in front of her slid up, revealing a smiling Ben. She lifted her arms up to him and he took her hands, helping to pull her up through the window with practiced ease. 

Beverly didn’t remember the last time she’d slept at home. 

Most of her stuff wasn’t even there anymore. She had only left her furniture. Everything else was packed into the trunks of Bill and Stan’s cars. Nothing had changed much at home after that Summer that the Losers had spent running around the Barrens. She still had to creep around the house on eggshells, scared of her father hitting her, and even more scared of the way he’d watch her all the time. 

She could have told her mother. Elfrida Marsh seemed to have had some idea of what was going on in her Husband’s mind. While he was watching Beverly, she had been watching him. The older her daughter got the more she would stay at home or have Beverly come to the diner with her. Things were better for a little while. 

Then a little after Beverly turned 16 her mother got sick. 

There had been a time when Bev could have told her mother how scared she was of her father, how much she hated him. But then medical bills were piling up and the only one who could pay them was her father. So she bit her tongue. For a few dreadful months everything felt a little bit like that Summer when she met her boys. 

Her father watched her too much, too closely, hit her a little harder and more often. He was on her tail every time she tried to leave the apartment for anything but school. A few times she had even woken up to find her father standing in the doorway to her room. 

She told Richie first, then the rest of the boys later that day. That evening she went home with an aluminum baseball bat that was small enough for a child. They had found it at the dump and it’s new home was in the space between her mattress and the wall. 

It was a good thing too, because everything with her father came to a head a few weeks after her mother was first admitted to the hospital. She woke up with her father sitting next to her bed and his hand up her shirt. Beverly could still remember the warm, alien heat of his hand on her breast and the way he’d been leaning over her, nose buried in her hair while he mumbled her name. The only other sound was skin on skin. 

That moment was seared forever into hier mind. It seemed like it lasted forever. And then everything that came over happened so quickly it was almost a blur.

Beverly could remember screaming. One hand clawed at her father’s face, following Stan’s advice.

_“Don’t worry about fighting fair, Bev. Go for the eyes, or his nuts, or his throat.”_

Her father was shouting at her and he squeezed her breast so hard it hurt and then when her hand found the bat she swung it at his head. It made a dull metal thunk against his skull. He reeled away from her then, clutching at his head, blood running down his face. It was start but Beverly knew that he wouldn’t let her leave if he could still move. 

So she hit him again. And again. And again. 

Then when his knees hit the ground and he fell into her carpet she grabbed her book bag, stuffed as many clothes in it as she could and she ran. Barefoot, in nothing but her pajamas, she ran until she was at Bill’s house. She hadn’t picked him specifically but his was just the first house she’d come to. He had been on the porch in his pajamas, looking like he was waiting for her.

_“What are you doing outside at this time of night?_

_“I-I don’t kn-know. I ju-just felt like I n-n-needed to b-be outside. Are y-you okay?”_

Ever since then she’d been couchsurfing from one of her friends’ houses to the next. Sometimes she stayed with Bill. Sometimes she stayed with Richie, or Mike. Occasionally she stayed with Stan, but mostly she stayed with Ben. Never Eddie, though. His mother was far too paranoid for her to sneak into the house in the middle of the night like she did with everyone else. 

They all helped her sneak in when her father was at work so she could get all her things. And it didn’t matter that she was technically homeless. She always had a home with the Losers, her boys. 

Each and every one of them developed a different routine with her. 

At Bill’s the’d take turns using the bathroom and then fall in bed together, backs touching through the night. Stan was a little more awkward. He’d always be done with everything he needed to do in the bathroom before she got there and he’d make her sleep in his bed while he camped out on the floor. He had trouble sleeping when he had to share a bed. Mike would let her in through the front door, his couch already made up for her because his parents were the only ones that knew she stayed there sometimes. 

It had been MIke’s mother who caught her one night, creeping back to Mike’s room from using the bathroom. She’d been angry at first, of course. She’d woke her husband with the dressing down she was giving Mike and Beverly. Then suddenly Beverly just started to cry. 

_“What the hell do you think you’re doing sneaking her in my house? I know what it’s like to be young but really?! And you, Beverly! Do your parents know where you are? What are your mother and father going to think when they have to come pick you up from some boy’s house in the middle of the night?”_

_“Mom, you don’t understand--”_

_“Please don’t make me go back! Please! I can’t--I can’t-- I can’t go-o-o back.”_

_“Why not? Every kid has rough patches with their parents. You can’t just run away.”_

_“Because he was **touching** me! My-my mom i-i-is sick and he was **touching** me!” _

After that stuttered, wailing confession, Mike’s mother let her stay whenever she needed. The woman had quickly become like a second mother. Every time she spent the night at Mike’s she’d wake up to help collect the eggs out of their new chicken coup and then they’d make breakfast and eat. Out of all of them, Mike had the best family. 

Still, Bev’s favorite nights were spent at Ben’s. 

They were even more fun than when she’d stay at Richie’s and they would keep each other up all night, making jokes and reading comics. 

At Ben’s they would take turns with quick showers in the bathroom, and then they’d get in bed. The first few times Ben would insist on letting her take his bed and sleeping on the floor. She wouldn’t hear of it. She wasn’t scared of Ben or any of her boys. 

That night was no different. 

As always, Ben had her use the bathroom first. Then by the time he came back she was already in bed, drunk and tired. She smiled at him from where she was curled up in bed, next to the wal. He crawled in after her shyly, careful not to touch her until. Only when she shuffled closer and tucked her head under his chin, did he wrap his arm around her, stroking his hand down her back. 

“I think you’re just about the best guy in the world, Ben Hanscom,” Beverly said quietly, eyes closed as she nuzzled into his chest. There was a lot less of him than there used to be, but he was still a little soft. Not that Beverly minded at all. He smelled like Irish Spring and water. “I love you.” 

When she leaned back he was gazing at her in wonder and she felt something pinch at her heart. It wasn’t the first time she told him. She knew he loved her too. But they weren’t dating. Because Ben deserved better. He deserved someone who was okay being touched and loved on. He deserved someone who didn’t have bouts of suspicion about what the people around her wanted from her, or why they were being so kind. He deserved someone who wasn’t so fucked up in the head. Ben fucking Hanscom deserved someone so much better than her. 

As if reading her mind, he smiled and moved his hand to cup her jaw. His hands were oh so careful and light. Ready to fly away the second she looked upset, like birds. 

“I think you’re just about the best girl in the world. I love you, too, Bev.” 

If he had wanted to say anything else, he wasn’t allowed. Beverly’s lips were pressed against his before he could even try. She didn’t think that Ben deserved to be saddled with all her baggage. But with the way he looked at her made her feel like maybe he wouldn’t mind helping her carry it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently have a lot of trouble writing for Ben.

Ben had a problem. 

He was head over heels in love with Beverly Marsh. 

The sun had come up enough to fill his room with sunlight and Ben was stuck laying on his side because Bev had fallen asleep with her head on his arm and wasn’t showing any signs of waking up any time soon. At least the view was good. Rays of sun bounced off the errant curls in Beverly’s short hair. Her lashes curled against the apples of her freckled cheeks. The sun made her absolutely glow. 

Even if she was drooling on his bicep and making his arm go numb, she took his breath away. It wasn’t just her looks, though, it never could be. It was her personality. She was so compassionate, and fierce. 

Beverly was angry at the world and it’s injustices and Ben loved that about her. She was ready to fight it too, and he wanted to help her however she needed him to. Because of this, at the tender age of 18 Ben was sure that she was the one true owner of his heart. And he was fine with that. 

“Ben,” Beverly suddenly whispered, nearly making the poor boy roll off the bed. She then proceeded to croak, “I need you to get up and close all your curtains. Then I’m going to need you to get me some ibuprofen and gatorade.”

“Can do, Boss,” Ben teased before rolling out of bed and grabbing his phone off the table by his bed. Moving around the room, he pulled the curtains, nearly plunging the room into darkness. “Be back in a sec.” 

Ben checked his phone as he made his way to the bathroom. Only Mike had texted him, asking if they’d be going for their run that morning. That depended on if Beverly was feeling alright enough to go to go to Bill’s. 

After a quick stop at the bathroom Ben hurried to the kitchen to grab that Gatorade he promised Bev. There was a bright yellow sticky note on the door that made him pause, though. For a moment, he debated ignoring it entirely. He was sure it was some passive aggressive little note from his mother about how he needed to eat more. That was another problem he had. 

Ever since he’d stopped eating so much and started running she had acted as though he was hurting himself and her by extension. He could stand the worrying and the crying. But what really drove him insane was how she would try to guilt him into eating. It was the same old song and dance about starving children in Africa who could have used the food and ‘are you really going to waste all of this, Ben? Come on, eat up.’

What was even more annoying is that it half-way worked.

He always felt too guilty to throw the food out, but he couldn’t eat it all, either. So their fridge ended up filled with leftovers that Ben would eagerly push off onto his friends. Having Beverly staying into his room so often helped with that. Speaking of… 

Ben ignored the note for the time being, choosing to grab Bev’s gatorade and pushing his mother to the back of his mind. When he raced back to his room, Beverly had finally sat up and was wrapped up in his blanket. It was comically pulled over her head, making her look like a patch-work Mother Mary. Shaking his head, Ben tossed the bottle of pills and Gatorade on the bed in front of her. 

“Thanks,” Beverly croaked. She clumsily uncapped the bottle and tipped it to her mouth. He couldn’t see, but usually she took about four of those things whenever she was really hurting. 

As she cracked open her Gatorade and started chugging the bright red colored drink Ben turned around and tugged his shirt over his head. It was some left over from before he’d started losing weight and now hung baggily off his lanky frame. Looking down at himself, he frowned. Sure he was losing weight but it left him with stretch marks and some loose skin around his stomach and hips. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he had thought it would be but it was still there. 

Then there was also _that_ scar. The puckered, half formed ‘H’ beside his belly button. Of all the things that Ben had forgotten about that long ago summer, Henry Bowers had made sure he’d never forget him. Ben ran his fingers over the scar and frowned deeply before going to his dresser and fishing out a grey sweatshirt to pull over his head. 

For the most part he knew that Beverly didn’t find him ugly. None of the Losers ever said anything disparaging about how he looked. And truthfully he wasn’t unattractive. Ben had grown into himself as he got older, shooting up and standing just as tall as Bill. There were girls at school who had asked him out. He’d gone out with a few. It never got much further than maybe the first or second date, though. 

His heart was already wrapped up in ribbon and waiting for someone else to take it. But she wouldn’t. 

Whether Beverly knew it or not, Ben knew she didn’t think she deserved the love she got most of the time. Not from him or any of the Losers, and it was all her father’s fault. Whenever he thought of the man, a deep, cold rage would cut through Ben like a knife. It was a scary feeling, this cold, calculating, angry side of himself, especially when he was normally such a gentle soul. 

Despite knowing on this, Ben sometimes felt the prickling fingers of insecurity marching up his spine. He didn’t feel like he was handsome. He didn’t feel like he deserved Beverly Marsh. The image of her and Bill dancing by the fire last night flared to life. 

They were beautiful together, Bill was everything Beverly deserved. And yet there was no jealousy to be had for Bill. It was partly because the idea of him and Beverly together in a sexual sense was utterly ridiculous at this point. Bill and Bev were kindred spirits, emotional siblings separated at birth. Even if that hadn’t been true, Ben didn’t think he’d be all that angry. 

He loved the both of them too much to want anything but for both of them to be happy. 

“Hey Bev,” Ben called over his shoulder, getting a tired grunt in return. “You feeling alright to go to Bill’s house while I go running with Mike,” he asked, sitting down in the chair in the corner of his room so he could pull on his shoes. There was no point in changing from one pair of sweatpants to another to go running in. 

“Sure, Beverly said, giving him a smile. “I think he’s the owner of all my clean clothes right now anyway.” Knowing Stan, he’d probably be washing the clothes she had stashed in her trunk if that was true. “Just let me get some pants on.” 

Ben quickly turned his back as Beverly crawled out of bed. He heard her giggling behind him and felt the tips of his ears and back of his neck go red. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw her shedding the little cotton shorts she slept in. Then as soon as they’d fallen past the swell of her ass, he snapped his eyes forward again, staring down at his phone as he sent Mike a quick text saying he’d meet him at their usual spot. 

Moments later there was a quick little tap on his shoulder and he turned around to see a smiling Beverly, wearing the same pants from last night and one of _his_ hoodies. Her sleep shirt and the rest of the clothes she’d been wearing last night were stuffed under her arm. The mischievous light in her blue eyes made him feel like maybe she knew he’d peeked when she changed her clothes and his cheeks warmed involuntarily. 

“Ready to go? You are walking me there, right,” Beverly asked, arching a brow and smiling like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Of course, Bev,” Ben said, a bashful look overtaking his face. “It would suck to have to walk over there hungover and alone.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to take care of me,” Beverly said, all teasing smile and big blue eyes. 

Ben’s face must have been lit red because Beverly giggled and just like always, Ben’s heart skipped a beat. He nearly tripped over himself to go open the door for her. A she walked past, he found himself following her, drawn like a flower to the sun. Loving Beverly Marsh was the best problem Ben had ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan's chapter is probably the reason I had some trouble trying to find the right tags. Mostly because putting a label on him would be putting a label on myself? I'm basically using Stan as a doll to figure my own self out right now. Whatever. Point is I don't have a real label right now so I didn't want to try and pin one down on Stan?

Stan was a particular person. 

In his room, there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. 

A cup of pencils and pens on the right side of his desk, not directly in the corner because that was where any of his homework that he was working on would be waiting for him, but just within reaching distance. Then there was a gooseneck lamp just to the upper left of the center of his desk, where his work would be when he was actually working on it. Off to the left, on the floor, there was a little wire waste-basket for any trash. There were a couple drawers under the desk on either side that were meticulously filled with extra paper, pens, notebooks, note cards, highlighters, sticky notes, thumbtacks, whatever one may need. 

All the books in the shelves around his room were arranged by category. His bed was neatly made. First the cream colored flat sheet, then a dark blue comforter, and a black throw blanket folded across the bottom. There wasn’t even a bit of laundry on the light colored, hardwood floors in his powder blue and white room. Why would there be when he had a hamper in the corner of his room farthest from his door for dirty clothes and all the clean ones would rest patiently on his bed until he was finished folding and putting them away?

Stan just liked things being neat and orderly. He liked knowing when, where, and what things were. Having control over the space around him made it easier to deal with the things for which control eluded him.

Currently, Stan was laying in that perfectly made bed of his, scrolling through the group chat to see what he'd missed so far that Saturday morning. Beverly was the first person to have said anything. She apparently went to Bill's house early that morning because had taken pictures of him and Eddie cuddled up in bed together. 

A small smile tugged at Stan's mouth. They were cute. 

Bill was laying half on his front with Eddie covering his back. His face was pressed into the back of Bill’s neck and a thin arm was curled around Bill’s ribs. Underneath the pictures was a slew of comments from Richie about how unfair it was that he hadn't been there at Bill’s deflowering. 

Eventually Eddie had gotten on to call Richie a dick and tell him that he hadn't missed anything yet. After that there had been another picture. This time it was of Bev in bed with Bill and Eddie. All three looked tired and hungover but Eddie most of all. His eyes were narrowed in annoyance as he peeked up from Bill's neck to look up at the camera. 

A dull sense of longing thumped through Stan’s chest. He wanted something like that, or at least parts of something like that. 

Sometimes Stan wondered if something was wrong with him. As much as he wanted the cuddles and kisses and affection that a girlfriend or boyfriend guaranteed, he wasn't really interested in sex. Or maybe he was interested in sex, just not with anyone who he wasn’t as close to as he was the rest of the Losers. The thought of two sweaty bodies rubbing against each other in the heated embrace of sex was somewhat repulsive to him, but there were other things he didn’t think he’d mind so much if it was with the right person.

Richie was always joking about how he was just too damn picky. Maybe there was just something wrong with him. Although Beverly hadn’t thought so when he tried to explain himself to her. She was the only one he’d tried to talk to, though. 

It had all come spilling out one of the nights when she spent the night at his house. That night he had decided to try and go out on a date. The girl, her name was Elizabeth, was pretty and seemed sweet. She had dark brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes that crinkled when she smiled, showing off the slight gap between her two front teeth. She was cute. So when she came up to him after AP World History, asking if he wanted to go see something at the Aladdin he’d said yes. 

Things had been fun at first. Stan felt like maybe he was kind of normal. They’d got popcorn and sodas and went to go watch some feel-good comedy. He couldn’t remember a thing about the movie but when they’d been watching it, he had found himself thinking that he kind of missed Richie’s and Bill’s horror movies. Still, he and Elizabeth had been laughing and spilling popcorn everywhere as they tried to hush each other when they got too loud. 

He hadn’t even minded when her butter slicked fingers had found his in the dark and they started holding hands. But then toward the middle of the movie she’d leaned in to press her sticky, lip gloss covered lips against the side of his neck. Her hand slipped out of his and landed on his knee and it should have felt good, right?

Instead all he could think about was how sticky her lips were and did she have to lick his neck so much? Her hand crept a little higher up his thigh and all he could think was that this was her first time really talking to him. Was this all she’d been thinking about when she had asked him to come to the movies with her? He had started to squirm under her attentions and quickly jolted up out of his seat when her hand finally moved up too high for him to stand. 

He’d hurried out an excuse about needing to go to the bathroom. And he did go. Once he had gotten himself in harsh fluorescent, chemical scented room, he’d gotten a paper towel, wet it down and scrubbed at his neck. It was just so sticky. He could already invision all the dirt and little bits of hair and debris that would have gotten stuck to the lip gloss running from the lobe of his ear down to the base of his neck. 

And then once he’d scrubbed his neck clean he looked in his mirror and wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with him? Richie would have given him so much shit. She was pretty, and willing and why not just take the handjob? 

Because it would have left him a damp, tacky mess in his underwear. 

Because she didn’t know him or care. 

Her actions weren’t driven by some affection for him. She was just horny and there wasn’t anything wrong with that. But it wasn’t for him. He texted her from the bathroom, citing a family emergency, before leaving. 

When he got home, Beverly was already in his room, sitting in the middle of his bed in her pajamas. Her clothes from before were somewhat sloppily folded and put on his desk chair. She’d eagerly bounced on the bed, asking how things went. Then, so suddenly that it had even taken him by surprise, Stan broke into tears. 

It wasn’t any loud horrible sobbing, just a quiet shuddering breath and then tears rolling down his cheeks as he crossed his arms over his chest. Beverly’s folded up clothes that had triggered it. Which seemed stupid later on but at the time, all he could think about was that _she_ cared about him. _She_ knew him. The rest of the Losers did, too. Hell, even Richie wouldn’t eat in his bed when they hung out in Stan’s room because of the crumbs.

Beverly had folded up her clothes because she knew he hated having clothes strewn around his room and she cared enough to take his comfort in mind. Elizabeth wouldn’t have. She would have shed out of her clothes and let them drop where they may, not caring if it bothered him. And when he spontaneously started to cry she’d flown off his bed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head down to her neck and letting him sniffle and whimper till he felt like he could talk. 

“What’s wrong with me,” Stan had asked after a while, the both of them sitting on his bed, then. His head was hung low and he had buried his fingers into the light brown curls of his hair, curling tightly into them. 

“Nothing, Stan,” Beverly said kindly, her arm draped over his back and head resting against his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to have sex with someone you don’t care about.” 

“It wouldn’t even have been real sex,” Stan protested glumly. “Just a fucking handjob and I just.. I couldn't... It didn’t feel right.” He bit into his lip, staring down at the floor and following the way the flow of the wood grain with his eyes. “Any other guy would’ve been fine with it. And it isn’t just her it’s--It’s everyone! Everyone seems so into sex and all this shit and I just… I don’t want it! I just.. I want to feel loved.” 

“You’re not just any other guy, though,” Beverly murmured, then after a beat of silence, she leaned away, shuffling so that she was sitting on her hands. It was a tell-tale sign that she was nervous about what she was going to say next. “Love and sex aren’t mutually exclusive things. And I kinda get how you feel. I mean, don’t get me wrong, sexy guys and girls still get me going but I don’t want to sleep with someone just because of that.” 

“They don’t even do that for me. I don’t really feel much of anything sexual about anyone. Maybe if I’ve gotten to the point of caring about them already but even then,” he shrugged, thinking of the times when he’d seen Beverly’s face lit up by the setting sun at the quarry and thought that it must be nice to kiss her. 

There had even been times when he’d seen one of the guys looking particularly stunning and thought the same thing. Mike laughing, his real laugh, the one so loud and joyous that it made it seem like nothing bad could possibly exist in the world. Bill’s lip caught between his teeth, chin resting in his palm as he focused intently on trying to word something just right in his journal. Even then Stan’s thoughts wouldn’t stray past how it would be nice to share a kiss or be held by one of them. But then his occasional bursts of feeling toward his male friends was a problem all its own and he wasn’t really to deal with that. 

The sound of Beverly’s heels thunking dully against his bed frame had brought him out of the thought easily. 

“The only person I really want to have sex with is Ben,” Beverly blurted, her freckled cheeks flaming as she looked across the room. “You guys are the only men I could trust with that,” she continued softly, and this time Stan offered comfort by offering her his hand so that Beverly could hold it if she wanted. She did, lacing their fingers together. Her hand felt so small and soft in his. “The rest of you are like my brother’s though so ew. But Ben… I love him so much. But… I can’t.” Frustrated tears welled in her eyes for a moment but she wouldn’t let them fall. “I think about sex plenty but I’m scared because I don’t feel like I should want it or like it, but I do.” 

“That’s different, Bev. It’s expected after everything with your dad,” Stan said, squeezing her hand in his as she took a deep breath to try and keep those tears in check. “He’s a piece of shit and what he did isn’t your fault. That being said, it’s normal that you’d feel like that. Me… I think I’m just broken.” 

Beverly had leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. 

“I know. I know that I didn’t do anything wrong but it still feels like I did and I hate it! I hate him for fucking me up like this…” WIth a sniffle, she wiped at her eyes. “But that’s not what we’re talking about right now!” As always, Beverly was desperate to change the subject and Stan let her. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Stan. You don’t have to force yourself to conform to an image that society is pushing on you if that’s not who you are.”   
The talk had helped. It didn’t cure his insecurities instantly but he had felt better at the end. That night he’d even slept in his bed with her, rather than in his sleeping bag on the floor. He’d fallen asleep with his head pillowed on her ribs and arms wrapped around her waist. It was one of the best feelings in the world. 

Staring at the ceiling, now alone in his bed while his skin prickled for human contact, he wondered if maybe it would be okay if they did that again. Societal rules didn’t seem to apply to the Losers. Maybe he could ask for this from his friends. Maybe it wouldn’t be too weird to go to them and ask for the physical affection he so badly wanted. 

But then maybe that _was_ weird. Maybe that sort of stuff was something you only did with your lover or if your friend was going through extreme amounts of stress. 

Sighing, Stan dropped his phone by his hip and rubbed his hands over his face. Stan was not a fan of feelings. For him they seemed impossible to sort out and control.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike was also a little hard to write for but I'm trying!

Mike sang quietly to himself as he walked around the farm, getting his chores done. Since Henry Bowers killed his father and got arrested things had been great at the Hanlon farm. It was a horrible thing to say but it was true. They had chickens again, and even a few goats. Sure racism was still alive and well in Derry but Henry and his father had been the only ones who went so far as to kill their animals. 

Not that Mike was all that broken up about the idea of not having to deal with the chickens. 

Birds just weren’t his thing. Unlike his friends, he could very much remember his first encounter with It. It would seem he was the only one who did. Sure, he didn’t think about that Summer all the time, but the others hardly seemed to remember anything about all the horrors that had so firmly cemented their friendship with each other. 

Every now and then they’d say something that made it seem like they remembered _something_. Through the years it became clear they didn’t know what it was they remembered, though. And really, that was fine. Mike was pretty sure that was how it was supposed to be. 

For some reason, whatever it was, he had to remember it all. 

He could even still feel that thrum of something _other_ under Derry. 

There had been a lot of feelings of something ‘other’ that Summer. Something had pulled them all together, carefully weaving the first strands of their friendship. He wondered, sometimes if maybe they had been woven too tightly. 

After they had subdued It that feeling had briefly vanished and they were just Seven scared children lost in the sewer. Beverly had pulled them together again, though, long enough for them to find their way out. Then they had made that promise, slicing open their palms and mingling blood. 

Mike thought maybe they weren’t supposed to have stayed together after that. 

For days, even weeks after they didn’t see each other. Not all together at any rate. They never went back to the Barrens. Then one day Bill was there. Mike had come back home from running an errand for his father to find Bill on his front porch, sitting with his mother and sipping on ice tea and and munching cookies. Or at least the tea and cookies had been out. Bill didn’t look much like he’d wanted to eat them at the time. 

As soon as his blue, red rimmed eyes met Mike’s he had launched himself off the porch and wrapped the shorter boy into a hug. He’d gasped out that he didn’t know where else to go. Richie was out of town with his parents and Eddie was trapped with his mother. Apparently Bill had started to have a panic attack and in those moments of mounting terror, he ran to MIke. 

Soon after that he’d ended up playing with Bill, Eddie, and Richie again. 

Eddie met up up with Ben at the library sometimes. Beverly would run there to get away from her father some days. Richie still hung out with Stan. Eventually they just all drifted back together. And that feeling of being something different than those around them returned. 

I was different than the first time. 

Before, during the months where they were tracking down and working to destroy It, they were like wild animals. Not that he noticed until later. But they’d hunted It down. They’d sniffed It out and pulled together to kill It. Like wolves. 

Now it was more like they were living in a world that wasn’t quite made for them. It was like they were made for something more but unable to reach their full potential. Mike was sure there were words for all of the ‘something’ and ‘other’ that they felt but he didn’t know what they were. 

A chorus of happy bleats made Mike chuckle as he neared the Goat’s pen. Ideally they would have been able to fence in their whole property and let the goats roam free but that was still a work in progress. For now they got to stay in a nice pen, with a shed to hide under when it rain and bales of hay for them to nibble on and climb. They were also a favorite part of Mike’s day. 

So far they only had three female goats and they all came to investigate Mike as soon as he walked into their sizable pen. A fawn color goat with a white face and legs nibbled on leg of his pants while the herd queen, who was a hefty black goat with a white stripe running down her back and white legs, nudged at the bucket of feed he’d brought them. The last goat, a little brown thing, was shy and followed at a distance, watching as Mike filled their feeder.

The herd queen was there first and Mike went to sit on a bale of hay and watch the other two goats join in on the other side of the feeder. He couldn’t wait to get their fence up so they could let the goats out to graze. Maybe he could enlist some of the guys to help him and his dad work on it sometime. He was hoping to get it up before the weather turned warm again, but also before it got so cold that it would be miserable to work outside. 

It would also prove a good distraction for the slowly building hum under his feet. 

Sometimes Mike was sure that he could feel It still. Or maybe it was just one of those ‘somethings’. Whatever it was it as growing steadily louder, like it was building up to something but he wasn’t sure what. In another twenty-one years it might just get loud enough that he’ll feel his teeth vibrating in his skull. 

But then maybe it wouldn’t take that long. Maybe it was something completely different. The further that they got into the school year, the more Mike worried about what was going to happen when they graduated high school. He was the only one who didn’t really have a reason to leave Derry after high school. It could’ve been that he just wasn't’ supposed to. Just like he wasn’t supposed to forget about It. 

The others, though. Bill had his writing. He’d already submitted some pieces to magazines and was working on something big. He hadn’t let any of them read it yet but he was rapidly filling up notebooks and spent a lot of time typing away in the middle of the night, according to Eddie, Richie, and Bev. Speaking of, she was destined for bigger things as well. Mike had seen her sketchbooks full of amazing drawings and several clothing designs. Then Ben was taking an interest in architecture. The others were less clear as to what they’d end up doing but Mike was certain that they’d be amazing. 

The only thing was… However he looked at it, he was going to get left behind. Even if that was the way things had to be, he didn’t have to like it. 

Secretly he hoped that maybe things didn’t have to be that way. After all, they just as easily could have died that Summer. Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter, It, Bill’s tendency to ride Silver through heavy traffic like a dumbass, they could have died plenty of times. But they hadn’t. They had won, for the time being. They also could have never spoke again but they pulled each other back together. Maybe they could swing things in their favor one more time and stay together for the next twenty-one years, or maybe even longer. 

The tawny colored goat bleated and butted her head against MIke’s knee, pushing away the worrisome thoughts and making him laugh. Unfortunately he couldn’t sit with the goats all day. After giving the goat a rub across the back he stood up and headed for the gate to the pen. He still had to check on the chickens and check on the how their fields of fall crops were going. 

Not to mention he also had to get a hold of the Losers and convince them to help him build his fence. Taking out his phone, he started texting their group chat. Alas, a farm boy’s work was never done.


End file.
